Feeling for Understanding
by AmazingGrace36
Summary: Complete! In which Dumbledore has been reading far too many books on Muggle psychology and Snape's desire to strangle his employer reaches dangerous levels. Snape and Harry are locked in a classroom together until they can reach an 'understanding.'


**Feeling for Understanding**

**Rating:** K  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> None  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> None  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In which Dumbledore has been reading far too many books on Muggle psychology and Snape's desire to strangle his employer reaches dangerous levels. Locked in a classroom with his hated professor until the two can reach an "understanding," Harry despairs that he is going to be murdered and turned into potions ingredients.

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><p>It hadn't started too unexpectedly. Harry had botched up yet another potion. Snape had sneered and vanished the oozing brown mass that had begun to smell like week-old chicken and dirty socks. Harry had turned red and clenched his fists and muttered something unpleasant as Snape had swept off to insult another incompetent Gryffindor. Snape had hurled a detention in Harry's direction with the lightning fast speed and agility of a ninja. Harry had spent the rest of the day griping about how unfair and <em>evil<em> Snape was. Then Harry had headed down into the dark, dank, and icy cold bowels of the castle to serve his detention, visions of frog guts and flobberworm paste dancing in his head.

Snape had been in the process of simultaneously insulting Harry's intelligence and giving him instructions on how to properly write lines (and enjoying himself immensely, no doubt) when the unexpected began to happen. The door to the potions classroom creaked open. In walked Dumbledore, smiling merrily and the usual twinkle lighting up his eyes.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Severus, Harry. I'm very disappointed in your relationship. I had hoped that, after four years, the two of you would at least be civil to each other. It seemed I was, in a rare moment, wrong."

Shame rushed through Harry, but it was quickly pushed aside. Dumbledore didn't _seem_ disappointed. In fact, he was still smiling brightly.

"I have decided to remedy the situation." Without a word of explanation, Dumbledore turned and swept from the room, closing the door behind him.

The lock clicked into place.

Both Harry and Snape stared in silence at the door for a long moment. Then Snape strode over to the door, wand in hand.

"Your jokes never were very funny, Albus," he growled.

Snape flicked his wrist, but nothing happened. He flicked it again. He tried to open the door the Muggle way. It wouldn't open.

"Professor?" Harry called in disbelief.

"Quiet, Potter," Snape growled.

"You can't leave me in here with him, Professor!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly feeling terrified. Dumbledore couldn't possibly intend to lock the two of them in here together! What was the man thinking? "He'll kill me!"

"On the contrary, I do not think he will." Dumbledore's voice came from the other side of the thick door, laughter more than present. "I am sure the two of you will come to an understanding instead. This door will remain locked until you do. You will find I've placed a charm upon the two of you. Neither of you will be able to speak unless you start the sentence with 'I feel.' Muggles often use 'I' messages to effectively communicate their feelings in a less harmful and less accusatory way."

Harry tried to protest but, unbidden, he began to say, "I feel-" His eyes widened. He tried again. "I feel... bloody hell!"

"I feel that this is unnecessary, Albus," Snape snarled at the door.

Harry glanced over at his professor and was alarmed to discover a positively murderous expression on his face. He took a few hurried steps away from the man and pulled out his wand, gripping it tightly in his hand. He hoped that Snape wouldn't decide to take his anger out on him, but knew he most undoubtedly would.

"I feel that this is extremely dangerous, Professor! I feel like Snape isn't going to take this well!"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. But do not worry, my dear boys," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. Footsteps began to walk away from the door. "Good luck!"

"I feel that man will one day find my hands around his neck," Snape hissed, fists clenching.

Harry took a few more steps backwards, putting space between himself and his livid professor. He was sure to put a few tables between them as well. He tightened his hold on his wand.

He hoped he wouldn't find Snape's hands around _his_neck instead. The thought was rather terrifying and, at the moment, the situation didn't seem all that unlikely.

"I feel like I'm going to die down here," Harry whispered to himself. "I feel bad things are going to happen and that they're never going to find my body because Snape is going to kill me and chop me into potion ingredients."

"I feel Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly, making Harry jump. "I feel that there is no reason for you not to complete your detention during this time. I feel that you should sit down and write your lines _silently_."

His lips curled upward in disgust and Harry figured the "I feel" statements must be frustrating him. Snape would never say anything in such a placid manner. He probably meant to say something more along the lines of, "Sit down and shut up!"

"I feel like that's probably a good idea, Professor," Harry agreed quickly before Snape could become even more irritated.

Snape sat at his desk, pulling a stack of parchment and an inkwell of red ink toward him. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the poor students whose essays Snape would be grading tonight. The man was _not_in a good mood and that probably meant they would all be receiving Trolls. Harry really hoped _his_ essay wasn't in that stack, although Snape's poor mood probably wouldn't make much of a difference in the grade he got.

"I feel that if you make a single noise, you _will_ find yourself joining the ingredients in the jars on the shelves."

Harry spared a glance at the shelves that lined the far wall of the classroom and gulped. He could see eyeballs and ears and fingernails and who knew what else.

"I feel like I understand, sir."

Snape waved his wand and a stack of parchment appeared on the desk nearest Harry. He gave a satisfied smile that Harry would be very happy to never witness again in his life. "I feel that I do not need to give you a numerical expectation for lines this evening. I feel as though it will be quite sufficient for you to simply write until we are released."

Harry nearly yelled out at the unfairness of it all – who knew how long it would be before Dumbledore came to his senses and let them out? – but then he remembered that he was locked in the room with Snape and that it probably wasn't a good idea to anger the man unless, of course, he was suicidal. Which he wasn't.

Pressing his lips together in an effort to stay silent, Harry stepped forward to pick up his book bag from where he had dropped it at the beginning of the detention and then hurried back to the desk. He dug out a quill and ink, then sat down to begin the slow torture.

He found "I must respect my betters" already written at the top of the parchment. Frowning at the phrase, he picked up his quill and began to write.

_I feel that I must respect my betters._

Harry stared at the parchment for a moment, then tried again.

_I feel that I must respect my betters._

"I feel like this bloody spell is preventing me from writing my lines right," Harry moaned in frustration. Being the horrible git he was, Harry was sure Snape wouldn't accept this lines and would make him do the whole thing over.

"I feel it would be in your best interest to watch your language, Potter, if you do not wish to spend the better part of the evening with a bar of soap in your mouth." Snape remained seated at his desk, not even sparing a glance in Harry's direction. "I feel that it is also in your best interest to continue writing unless you wish to be in detention every night for the next month."

"I feel that... Urgh!" Harry groaned in frustration. It was more difficult than it seemed to begin every sentence with that stupid phrase. "I feel that this is out of my control, Professor. I feel that it isn't fair for you to punish me for this. I feel that you always do anyway, though."

Snape didn't respond and instead dipped his quill into the red ink and continued marking essays.

"I feel like you always give me detention for things that aren't my fault," Harry muttered, scowling.

"I feel that statement is far from accurate, Potter," Snape said sharply, finally looking up from the essays. "I feel that every detention I have given you has been given in all fairness. I feel that you do wrong far more than you seem to think, oh high and mighty savior of the Wizarding World."

Harry shot Snape the darkest glare he possibly could. "I feel that you haven't," he said shortly.

"I feel that you have no evidence to support that statement."

Harry opened his mouth to give evidence, but then realized he really didn't have any. Most of the times Snape had given him detention had been because he'd talked back. There had also been that time he and Malfoy had practically dueled in the corridors...

Snape smirked quite smugly and said, "I feel that I must again say it is in your best interest to continue writing."

Heaving a great sigh, Harry bent back over the parchment and continued doing his lines. It was going to be a long night.

An hour passed and Harry's hand was cramping. He heaved a heavy sigh. He wanted to stop writing now – he must have written at _least_ a thousand lines by now – but he knew Snape would just threaten him with who knew what and force him to continue. Harry continued on for another half an hour before he couldn't bare it any longer. And he was beginning to suspect Dumbledore had no qualms about keeping them locked in here for days, if he had to. His hand would certainly fall off by then.

"I feel Professor Dumbledore is serious, sir," Harry finally said aloud, then cringed as he waited for the potions professor to snap like Harry was certain he would.

Snape looked up from his desk, his lips twisting into a snarl. "I feel that, for once in your miserable existence, you are correct, Potter."

Harry's eyes widened with surprise. The insults, of course, he _had_expected but he hadn't expected Snape to agree with him.

"I feel that maybe if we _pretend_ to do what he asked, maybe he'll let us go."

"I feel sincere doubt that the old coot will believe our _pretending_," again with the vicious sneer and mocking tone, "but there is no hope of coming to the ridiculous idealized 'understanding' the Headmaster is seeking. I feel this is our best chance at freedom."

"I feel I agree, sir," Harry said, willing to do anything to get out of here.

There was a long moment of silence and Harry finally looked up. Snape was staring at him expectantly, with an eyebrow raised as if to say, "Well?"

Harry bit his lip, not sure what Snape was expecting him to do. After another long moment of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat and said hesitantly, "I feel that maybe we could just share things about ourselves?"

It was more of a question than a statement and the way Snape just continued to stare at him did not do anything to boost Harry's self-confidence. Another moment passed and then Harry continued.

"I feel that maybe we could just, er, talk about things that don't really matter."

Snape remained silent and expectant. Harry's hands twisted about in his lap and he shifted nervously.

"I feel that treacle tart is the best food in the world, for example."

Finally, Snape spoke up – although his intense gaze didn't lessen – and Harry was surprised to hear him say, "I feel that coffee is far superior to tea."

Harry noticed suddenly that there seemed to be a challenge in his professor's stare and he shot back, "I feel that coffee is disgusting."

Snape's eyebrow twitched and he replied calmly, "I feel that the color yellow is hideous."

"I feel that green is the best color."

Snape raised his eyebrow at that and Harry just sort of shrugged. He couldn't help it if his favorite color also happened to be a Slytherin color.

The classroom was silent for a few minutes as Snape stared thoughtfully at the far wall and Harry stared thoughtfully at his shoes.

Snape spoke next. "I feel that if procuring them didn't require quite so much time and effort, I would use Muggle pens rather than quills."

Harry agreed with Snape on that one. Muggle pens were easier to use than quills. He thought for a long moment, trying to come up with a response.

"I feel that if I were a crayon, I would be the one that's sort of a blue-green color but that's also kinda grey, you know?"

Snape stared blandly at Harry for a moment, as if to say, _No,__I__don't__know__and__you're__an__imbecile__for__asking__if__I__do._

"I feel that if I could go anywhere in the world, I would go to the Amazon to study the potions the indigenous magical communities create and the ingredients they use that are found no where else in the world."

Another long moment of silence that was conductive to thinking. "I feel that if I could go anywhere in the world, there's no where I would rather go than to the Burrow with the Weasleys and Hermione."

There was more staring on Snape's part, inquisitive and almost curious this time. Harry felt the heat rising in his cheeks, but didn't look away.

The silence continued on yet again and was becoming awkward. Random thoughts kept popping into his head and when the silence grew unbearable, Harry blurted one out just to be rid of the silence.

"I feel that it's a waste of time to untie your shoes when you take them off."

Snape gave a single nod, acknowledging the idea. Then he returned with one of his own.

"I feel that the stars are more beautiful here than anywhere else in the world."

It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow and stare at his professor. He wondered how much time the man had spent outside, staring up at the sky. Snape really didn't seem like the type, in Harry's opinion, but after a moment of thought, Harry gave a mental shrug. Whatever floated his boat, he supposed.

"I feel that Quidditch is the best sport in the world."

"I feel that I agree with you."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly. Had Snape really just agreed with him? Did Snape really like Quidditch? It made the man seem more... human.

He realized after a moment that everything he'd just learned about the man made him seem more human than Harry had ever imagined.

A loud click echoed throughout the room, making Harry jump slightly in surprise. Snape rose to his feet and strode quickly to the classroom door. Harry leapt up and hurried after him.

Then there was that wondrous moment of joy and the feeling of achievement when Snape twisted the handle and it actually turned. He pushed the door open, one corner of his lips tugging upwards into a smile.

"It seems Dumbledore believes we have come to an 'understanding,'" Snape commented dryly.

Harry was delighted to realize his professor hadn't started the phrase with "I feel." He grinned.

"You may go, Potter."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, then his grin returned full force.

He scurried over to the desk he had worked at and hurriedly shoved his things into his book bag. He scrambled back across the classroom, slinging the strap of his bag half-haphazardly over his shoulder. He stopped in the doorway and looked up at his professor. They looked at each other for a moment, then Harry nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

Snape just nodded back at him.

As Harry walked out of the classroom, reveling in the feeling of freedom and the knowledge that he and Snape _had_ come to some sort of understanding.

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><p>If you feel so inclined, please leave a review and share your thoughts. :)<p> 


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